


Rat & Pig

by mystery_notebook



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: I don't know what to tag this, M/M, murders?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 12:17:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6328843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystery_notebook/pseuds/mystery_notebook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small, weird little piece about my two favorite Junkers.<br/>Not very romantic. But then again, neither are they!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rat & Pig

Roadhog liked seeing Junkrat in pain. To most sensible people, this sounded horrible-- but Roadhog had no qualms with being horrible. Like it or not, Mako was the sturdier of the two and whenever his partner got shot or clocked or wounded it was usually up to him to pick up the slack. And the tables turned, sometimes, but he always preferred when they didn't.

Like most survivors of the crisis, he was also rather cautious with his emotions. He had seen too much and destroyed too much to let simple affection change his alliances-- and though Junkrat was quickly becoming one of the best partners he’d ever had, he wouldn’t dream of describing his feelings toward him so… luxuriously. But even still, he couldn’t deny that a certain feeling skewered his heart every time he lugged the little blood-soaked rat back to their current base. He felt strong, felt useful, like he was earning his half of the share. And later that evening, when needle inevitably pierced split skin and Junkrat squealed, something in him wished that he could go on stitching him up like that forever.

xxx

“Hey, Pig. Can I ask ya somethin fuckin’ sappy?

Roadhog grunts in reply, shifting his mask down a bit so he can get a better look at the endless sky of stars above them. They’re perched atop a cliff in what used to be a small bandit camp, and the place seems so quiet now that everyone’s been pushed off or blown up. He and Junkrat lay side-by-side on the dirt, sleeping rolls stained with blood underneath their heads. Junkrat picks at stitches on his leg.

“Do you believe in love?”

Roadhog grunts again, disdainfully, and Junkrat jabs him with an elbow to shut him up.

“Now, now! Hear me out! Two of those gals, the ones with the matching rings. They was sayin’ some pretty sweet goodbyes while we was pickin’ through their pockets. Seemed like they was married, yeh? Fuckin’ fancy that. I can’t believe folks still believe in things like that out here.”

Junkrat waits for his bodyguard’s reply, but none comes. He nudges him again, hard enough to bruise anyone without superhuman strength.

“...Love died when the Omnium exploded,” Roadhog finally replies. He seems sure-- like he’s stating a fact. “It’s nothing but trouble. They should have known that.”

Junkrat snickers. “I see how it is. All business with you, innit? Fair enough, mate. Fair enough.”

xxx

Junkrat liked seeing Roadhog _cause_ pain. To most people, this sounded sadistic-- which Junkrat definitely was. When he had first hired his right-hand man, he was only really going by rumours. Everyone had said the exact same thing: No fear, no limits, no morals. Just like him. And he expected efficiency from his partner, sure, but nowhere near the level of showmanship that Roadhog demonstrated. The way he fought was almost magic. Assailants went down in one hit-- and not a clean, boring hit like you got with a sword or a sniper rifle. Roadhog dealt out hooks to the face, torsos full of scrap, broken bones and severed arms and tons of opportunities to chuck in a live grenade or two. Junkrat no longer only got in fights, but fights that got him excited. Fights that made good stories. Junkrat loved good stories.

And sure, as a survivor, he didn’t really believe in romance. It was dumb, destructive, dead. But if love was dead, which of course it was, then Roadhog elicited… something close. Some gross amalgamation of awe and bloodlust and raw appreciation. And the way he swung that hook-- that was what did him in. The accuracy was impeccable and the impact was brutal, and sometimes, when he was alone, he would replay their brawls in his head. Lingering on that goddamned hook, smacking slow-motion into somebody’s skull. Blood splattering on Roadhog’s gloves, making Jamison’s heart feel a little light.

xxx

"...And that's what I like about you. None o' that romance novel drivel about me feelin' bad for bein' horrible. Fuck, mate, you know i'm horrible! And you are too, you bet. Don't mind it none, neither of us. We're both fuckin' awful human beings and I think it's great that none of us give a damn."

Junkrat grabs his partner's vest, giddy from a few swigs of home-grown moonshine. The stuff's a bit rare out here, but damn if it's not worth killing for. It’s a different night, in a different corner of the desert, but the stars in the sky are just the same. Endless. The two are finally beginning to feel more like friends than business partners, and Junkrat seems to realize it. Roadhog smiles and looks down at him, fondly-- not an expressive man, but softened a bit by the drink. Junkrat presses his face into Roadhog's stomach, and Roadhog puts a hand on his partner’s back. It turns into something like a hug, if a hug involved Junkrat trying to bury into the other's flesh with his nose like a mole.

He pulls away, exhilaration on his face, and wipes some soot away from his eyes. "I love ya, ya big monster. Lord knows I really do."

Roadhog's face softens, almost sad, and he reaches out to mess up Junkrat's already wild hair. "Nice try, little rat. You know my stance on that. Nothing but trouble."

“Fine, fine, then it ain’t love,” Junkrat replies unfazed. "Some'fin close, then!" Roadhog lets himself smile, and then laugh. Warm and deep and quick. He pulls Junkrat in again.

"Sure, something close."


End file.
